


he had a chest full of heart (and a body full of scars)

by kyasuu



Series: could i get a side of triple identity porn with that? [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Anxiety, Friendship, Gen, Identity Porn, PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, fake suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyasuu/pseuds/kyasuu
Summary: The year is 2008, and Tony's done some (a lot of) reflection after he had escaped that horrible cave in Afghanistan.He's also made a superhero, faked his own death, and opened a cafe.-(You don't need to have read the previous two works to understand what's going on--this one's a standalone--but this is more world building, while the previous two are more storytelling.)





	he had a chest full of heart (and a body full of scars)

**Author's Note:**

> This one takes place before [in a world so sick with pain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12492408).
> 
> I did say it would take less time, yeah? :D
> 
> The title is from Hollywood Undead's [Pray (Put 'Em in the Dirt)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWhw7oou0lc). J3T says the "the song is about the egotistical needs everyone has in their adult lives that are tempting but ultimately take us down the wrong path."
> 
> Anyways, let me know how it is? :0

Tony Stark is captured by terrorists in the beginning of the summer of 2008, and he breaks out when the leaves are just beginning to crisp and flutter to the ground, armored and running on borrowed time and an electromagnet. There’s  _ truly _ blood on his hands now, but he feels no remorse for it.

They killed Yinsen.

He leaves the armor behind in that cave.

Tony’s in the middle of the press conference declaring that Stark International no longer creates weapons, and the weight of it all just suddenly crashes on his shoulders, but he braves it, puts on a fearless facade, carries on through the shocked and greedy yells of the reporters.

He’s  _ tired. _ Tony walks past Rhodey, tries to forget the expression on his best friend’s face but he can’t. He tries to feel more than just a dull ache that reverberates through the hollow of his chest left behind by the arc reactor and Yinsen.

When he comes home for the first time in three months, Tony feels like a stranger, but JARVIS’s overjoyed welcome alleviates the sense of wrongness a little, and he smiles, just a little.

“I’m tired,” he says to JARVIS, three nights after he returns, three nights after he hasn’t left the workshop, his voice soft and flat and honest. His AI is silent for a long moment.

“I know, sir,” JARVIS replies, sounding morose. DUM-E and Butterfingers and U whir, concerned. Tony hasn’t eaten or drunk much other than a few sips of a smoothie since that press conference. JARVIS has blocked all outside calls at Tony’s request.

Tony realizes that he likes this; the quiet, the distance from the media, just not having to do anything. And he thinks that’s when the idea starts to bloom.

He sits bolt upright, startling DUM-E into dropping the broom, and forces himself to stand up shakily. Tony has work to do.

It’s a long two and a half weeks. He subsists entirely on power naps, shitty smoothies, coffee, and sheer willpower, but he gets it done, and Mark II is laid out on the table.

Tony ignores the huge amount of emails and calls and texts he’s received and slips into the armor. It feels like a second skin,  _ familiar. _

It feels right.

He takes it on a test flight, learns the ins and outs of it, and cleans up the terrorists in Gulmira, all within four hours. The Stark weapons are removed cleanly, and he leaves.

Tony holds a second press conference (and he hopes it’ll be his last) two hours later, and has JARVIS pilot the armor. He already knows his name.

He stands in front of his audience, uncaring of how he  _ knows _ he looks like shit, like he hasn’t seen the sun in months (and really, he hasn’t).

“My name is Tony Stark,” he begins with, calm, “but you already knew that. That’s the only reason you’re all here, isn’t it?” There’s some hesitant laughing. “So far, my legacy has been the Merchant of Death--a war profiteer, someone who feeds on others’ suffering. I’m putting an end to that.”

He takes a breath, ignores the reporters below, and keeps talking. “This is Yinsen. His purpose is to destroy every last one of the unauthorized weapons. Maybe he’ll do more than that. It’ll be up to him eventually.” Tony gives the cameras a small wave and a sad smile. It’s one of the few expressions he hasn’t had to fake for the press. He imagines he looks pretty fucking pathetic.

“It’s been fun.”

Yinsen crumples into a suitcase, and Tony does not wait for any questions and walks off the stage, pushing through the throng of reporters and interviewers shouting and asking him questions. He puts on his sunglasses and pretends he isn’t sick of it all.

He pretends he isn’t guilty for doing this to Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and Obie.

“Tony.” He doesn’t look back, but he stops. He isn’t supposed to be here, but Rhodey sounds concerned. He sounds scared. Tony wonders if he’s put too much intent into that speech. Maybe Rhodey just knows him too well. (But not well enough. And that’s what Tony’s hedging this whole operation on.)

“Rhodey,” Tony says. Tilts his head just so. But he does not turn. He doubts his resolve will hold if he sees his best friend’s face.

“Tony, are you… are you okay?”

Tony doesn’t want to imagine what his best friend’s face looks like, so he keeps walking, he does not answer, he does not acknowledge the burn in his eyes. He is in public, they are in public, he cannot do this now.

He hears Rhodey walking behind him, not too fast but keeping up. Tony keeps his head down, does not look in Rhodey’s direction as they approach his car. It is not Happy driving. He does not want to see his friends today.

“Tony, please, you’re scaring me.” His best friend sounds like he’s begging. He sounds terrified, and it twists and pulls at Tony’s heart. Tony remains resolutely silent until he reaches the car.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at last. He pretends the reporters and interviewers aren’t there, that they aren’t trying to get bullshit for their gossip rags.

“Tony, what--”

“I’ll see you later.” Tony opens the car door. He isn’t lying. But Rhodey won’t know that. He won’t ever know that. Because Tony has steeled himself, he has talked himself into this, he is not backing out.

Tony shuts the car door. For the last time as Tony Stark, he turns and takes a good look at Rhodey’s face. “Bye,” he mouths, and turns to the driver. “Let’s go.”

When he returns to his workshop, he works on his will, and for the first time in a long time, he thinks about his future.

Tony stares at the ceiling of the workshop and asks JARVIS what he should do.

“Run a cafe,” JARVIS suggests. He almost sounds like he’s joking. “You do have a lot of practice making coffee, and I do remember you telling me about baking when you were younger.”

Tony snorts, and does not ask JARVIS again.

The next day, Pepper comes to the workshop door again. He does not let her in, but he lets her call him. He does not think he can handle seeing her face.

“Hi, Pepper,” he says.

“What was that press conference?” Always straight to business.

“A declaration,” Tony says simply. He says no more.

“Tony, are you okay?”

“Rhodey asked me that yesterday,” he says. He is deflecting, and he knows it, and Pepper knows it.

There’s a long silence.

“You aren’t going to do anything drastic, are you?”

“That’s impossible, Pep. Everything I do is drastic and dramatic and over the top.”

“Tony, please.”

“Treat Yinsen kindly, will you?”

“Tony, what are you--”

Tony hangs up, and spends a good six hours just staring at the ceiling, heart heavy in his chest. Then he writes his suicide notes, spatters them with his own tears, and hands them to Yinsen.

“I’m going to die throwing myself off a cliff and into the sea,” he says calmly, knowing JARVIS is recording it. It’s not difficult to pretend he really wants to, because there’s some part of him that does. “No body to recover that way. Consider this my proof that I’ve really decided to off myself.” He stares into the camera dead on. “Thank you, JARVIS. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a privilege to work with you, sir,” JARVIS replies solemnly, and cuts the recording.

Tony goes to the bathroom and cleans himself up. Shaves a little, washes his face, cuts his hair shorter. Afterwards, he’s nigh unrecognizable even if the eyebags and gaunt cheeks are obvious. He stares into the mirror for a bit longer than he needs to before he gathers his wits.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he is no longer Anthony “Tony” Edward Stark, the billionaire playboy genius who creates weapons. Tomorrow he is Antonio “Tony” Carbonell, a nobody.

He’s already set up the passports, the bank accounts, the files, everything. It will be like Antonio Carbonell has existed for 37 years. Tony would like to think he has; he has always preferred “Antonio” to “Anthony”. His mother had, too.

Tony goes to sleep fitfully, and when he wakes up, he dons the Yinsen armor. He practices his lines, he acts out his emotions, and JARVIS says even he would be fooled.

He takes a deep breath, and calls Pepper and Rhodey at the same time.

“Hello,” Tony says, his mouth dry. He’s suddenly thankful for the mask and the voice modulator, because no amount of rehearsals could prepare him for this conversation.

Pepper frowns at him, concern crossing her features. “Ah--Yinsen, was it?”

Before Tony can (lie) answer, Rhodey interrupts, tone sharp, “Where’s Tony? What happened to him?”

And he stares at the two most important people in his life, tries to summon the will to lie to them, and finds he can’t. Rhodey has always told him that he’s a shit liar.

“JARVIS, change of plans,” Tony mutters, and he flips up the faceplate. “Hi,” he says, awkward. “This is going to sound so horrible, Jesus, I’m so sorry, but I need. I need you two to help me fake a suicide.”

Pepper and Rhodey exchange glances.

“Don’t move,” Rhodey threatens, his voice thick with emotion that Tony can’t identify, “or else I will beat your ass. We’re coming down to the workshop, and you’re going to fucking let us in.”

Tony does not argue and he lets them in. He steps out of the Yinsen armor, watches it fold itself neatly into a suitcase, figures out a thousand ways he can improve the next design.

Before either of them can say anything, Tony miserably blurts out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you. And I’m sorry I was going to lie to you.”

“Why?” is all Pepper says. Her tone is neutral, it is not judgmental, it is not angry.

“I. I’m tired,” Tony says. He lays his heart bare before them,  _ for _ them. “I don’t want to make weapons anymore. I don’t want to see them hurt people. I don’t want the press and the media hounding me if I so much as breathe wrong.”

Rhodey approaches him, and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. He already knows what he wants to ask. “And… yeah. I think I have PTSD. Anxiety, probably, but that’s been around for so long I barely notice it anymore.”

Tony looks both of them in the eye, does not bother hiding the sheen in his eyes. “I’m  _ tired, _ ” he says. “I just want to… disappear. Not completely. Just from the public eye. Become a new person.”

There’s nothing that can prepare him for Rhodey’s sudden, warm embrace and Pepper’s words: “We’ll help you.”

Tony goes over the new plan with them, letting Happy and Obie in on the plan as well, and Pepper releases the audio clip from last night. She cries on TV and in front of the press and Rhodey is there for support. It’s so convincing Tony almost believes he’s dead.

He throws on a thick hoodie and greasy sweatpants and shades and takes a walk through the neighborhood, and wonders what his next move is. If anybody asks, Antonio Carbonell is a newcomer. He is trying to find work.

Tony stops when he sees a vacant shop, only a three minute walk from Stark Tower.

“Hey, J,” he murmurs into his comm, “what were you saying about a cafe?”

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @[kyasuu](http://kyasuu.tumblr.com)!


End file.
